Your Tax Dollars At Work

Seventy seven of our country's wild horses died after the Bureau of Land Management's last round up. An additional 39 late term foals were aborted as a result of mares being run for days over rocky terrain to the BLM's holding pens.

Most of the deaths occurred as a result of being run (read: chased by a low flying helicopter) to exhaustion, for days during this last winter. Many of the foals and yearlings were simply not strong enough to survive.

Is this okay? Do we care? Is it more important to clear this land of it's original horse herds so it can be reappointed as grazing area for cattle to feed you and other Americans?

This video talks more about the issue and shows some footage of the last roundup.



Do you want to tell the Secretary of the Department of the Interior, Ken Salazar, that he is doing a great job? Or perhaps you would rather tell him this movement against these horses is an epic fail?

Either way, a link his site is here.

Not coolio with this? Outraged perhaps? You aren't alone.

The Cloud Foundation has been looking out for our country's wild horses for a while now. I think they are an excellent place to start if you are feeling called to action. A link to their site is here.

Torn In The Time Of Cholera

Did you watch it? Even just the trailer is yummy, right? I told you! Now go Netflix it and savor the whole thing - you can thank me later.

I saw Love In The Time Of Cholera when it came to DVD, and it completely captured me.

The cinematography was breathtaking (sorry to be a drama queen, but it was), the soundtrack was awesome, it had great actors. The plot and character development completely drew me in, and made me never wanted the story to end.

Triumphs, tragedy, love, heartbreak, sex, life. What can I tell you, it was simply fabulous.

I mean come on now party people, it was based on a novel written by a Nobel Prize winning author; of course it was going to be phenomenal, right?!

It got the shittiest of shit reviews. I was hard-pressed to find anyone who had anything good to say about it.

"... Newell and Harwood completely missed the mark with this one, turning a complex love story into a superficial period film with no heart or heat." ~ Viewer - DVD Review

"If you've seen Gone With the Wind, you've seen what Love in the Time of Cholera isn't." ~ Kyle Smith, New York Post

And this one scared me the most...

"Listless, poorly scripted, badly acted and displaying an unforgivable misinterpretation of its source material, Cholera is easily one of the worst adaptations of a great book ever mounted." ~ Anonymous

That last review there strikes a special brand of fear in my heart because I have been waiting to read the book for over a year now. That is a common practice of mine when it comes to my dessert books.

Dessert books are the extra special I Just Know I am Going To Love You books. I come across them in a variety of ways. Many times it is as a result of loving one or more books an author has done previous. Sometimes, it is from reviews and/or recommendations. And every once in a while a movie will make me want to jump on the book (it is usually the other way around). No matter how I find them, as soon as I identify a dessert book, I have the damnedest time cracking them open. I try to tuck them away like fine china or linens you never use.

How bad would that suck though to get mowed down by a bread truck one day, and leave this earth never having given yourself a chance to savor all of your dessert books? Lameski.

Anywho, I digress...

I just stumbled on the movie reviews yesterday when in an effort to prime my courage to finally start the book, I went back and watched the theatrical trailer for the film. I was shocked to encounter so much discontent in the time of Cholera, and now I am also horribly torn.

What if the reviewers are right?! I don't want to fall out of love with the film as a result of having read the book. On the other hand, I don't want to put down the book and feel like all this time I have set aside a not so tasty dessert(I have a 100% "loved it!" success rate thus far on my dessert books, by the way).

I am praying I have enough unconditional love in my heart to forgive any possible stumbles the movie makes on translating the book, and that the book treads softly on that place in my heart, and does not force me to fall out of love with the film.

Pray for me - seriously.

I Don't Want Mine - I Want Yours

Oh, I am so very nauseated from reading whiny articles written by mostly women, lamenting that in the wake of January's earthquake, they haven't had any lucky snapping up Haitian children for adoption.

One woman wrote a post that her child needs her now, but all the red tape in Haiti was going to make it impossible for her to adopt from there anytime soon. Her child. When did a Haitian orphan become her child? Asinine.

Like I was saying, they are all pretty much along this same vein, so I won't bore you with every subtle nuance of whining style I came across. That will also wipe out the risk of me whining about the whining. I would much rather think of myself as sweeping and angry, than weak and whiny.

When I am not staving of the heaves, I do have questions about all of this.

Why are these Americans so obsessed with adopting an orphan from another country, when they are children right here in the US that could use loving parents and a secure home?

The foster care system alone includes over 100,000 children up for adoption in this country. Are those kids less abandoned? Do they suffer less from that loss, and the system they are thrust into so young? Are these women making a judgment that moving through the system to legal adulthood here is "good enough" while Haiti's system isn't? Or is it more romantic, and higher up on the Personal Jesus scale to run to an impoverished nation for your little bundle of charity?

Kids these days

Who knows, but they are annoying the hell out of me. When all the children here have what they need to thrive, then I say we look abroad to reach out.

On that note, I sometimes wish I didn't suck at relationships so badly. I have ovarian moments where I muse about finding a partner and adopting a child. In these visions, I co-parent with someone healthy and raise a child who is kind, generous, bright, and filled with drive to give back to his or her world.

These moments usually coincide with wine and cheese, and abruptly end when I remember that I am the only important person I know. Oh well.

They Keep Working Your Booty Even After You're Done Working Your Booty Call

White shorts really are the wisest wardrobe choice the morning after a booty call.

I just came across this ad in a magazine and I got all excited; I just have to share. This is special people.

Angry Lesbians have been fighting for womens' rights for decades, and we are finally getting somewhere. Finally! How long have we waited for this day?!

This new penis equality era in advertising when we will be seen and addressed as something more than sex objects. We're here people! We. Are. Finally. Here.

Now, back to the ad above. I know the small print is too small to read, but the magic of the message is within, so here it is for you:

EasyTone uses balance pods in the shoes to create natural instability, much like walking on a sandy beach, which encourages toning through increased muscle activation in 3 key areas of the leg.

The best part is that EasyTone works while you walk the dog, walk down the aisle, country line dance, chase after a bus, do the walk of shame...actually, when doesn't EasyTone work?

Did you catch the magic? Feel the hearts and stars? In case you need a hint, the fun is encased in the "do the walk of shame" part.

Wikipedia defines TWOS as, "The walk of shame refers to a phenomenon in which a person must walk past strangers or peers alone for an embarrassing reason before reaching a place of privacy. Most commonly[citation needed], it occurs the morning after a night out at a bar, dance club, or party. People undertaking the walk of shame are understood to have spent the night at the house, apartment, or dorm of a sexual partner (or perceived sexual partner), particularly a one night stand. The topic is often of the subject of college newspaper commentary."

Urban Dictionary simplifies the term a bit: "n. The course walked home after a night of boozing and fucking that ends in a booty call. One usually wears the clothes they went out in."

Isn't that awesome? No more appeals to our desperation. No more preying on our endless need to be forever considered beautiful. No, no, no. We aren't just seen as sex objects anymore. We can be whores too!

Wait a second...we were whores and sex objects before - godammit!!

Sorry Angry Lesbians. I called an early victory and I was mistaken. I think you won this one for us somewhere around 4000 BCE.

So please disregard this post. Much like the ad people at Reebok, it turns out I am full of shit.



Author's Note: Reebok doesn't appear to make an EasyTone shoe for men. Skechers makes a shoe for men similar to the EasyTone, but nowhere in their ads that I could access online did I see any verbiage about how dudes could stick their dicks in a chick, and then trot home the next morning, building their gluts all the way home.

A Plague Upon Our Lasagna

Sometimes I like to switch away from all the down-hearted shit I watch on television, and take in something uplifting. Have a good laugh, bring a little light in.

It was one of these times when I stumbled on to a documentary about the plague. Perfect. The Black Death was getting pretty black at this point in the show, and daily death tolls were being discussed. Most areas of Europe were losing several hundred people a day at the height of the epidemic in their villages. One historian popped on the screen to talk about the mass graves in Italy that were born out of the necessity to bury all of these people.

It was said that the Italians were constructing their mass graves much like a lasagna. No shit - that's what he said. My interest was piqued. So apparently they would put in a layer of people, and then a layer of dirt. Follow that with some ricotta, then another layer of people, another layer of dirt, and so on.

This got me thinking about a couple of things.

First off, nicely done Italians. The modern day lasagna design really is an ideal medieval mass grave layout. Just add that to all of the other things we have given the world. Among the vast list is the Renaissance, Fabio, liposuction, Bagpipes, and the barometer.

This new knowledge also begs a pretty big big question: Which came first, the lasagna or the mass grave?

Did some poor Greaseball serf survive the plague, have flashbacks about the mass graves, and then translate that experience into a tasty pasta cheese and tomato dish? Or was the lasagna already in existence and someone was pulled from the kitchen to help bury the dead and in the heat of the moment, thought ahead and implemented the old May You Rest In Peace Mass Grave Lasagna design?

Who knows, and I am not going to research it. My people have already done enough for you.

You can thank me later. Right now, I've got to get a lasagna in the dir...er - I mean oven.

Not So Great

"Being a piece of shit and then occasionally doing something that's good and true, it's a much easier place to be." Amen Kenny, amen.

Toss It In And Get It Over With Already!

I think I am going to throw it in. Give up. I know we aren't supposed to do that, but I am just so damned tired.

Tired of being completely mortified every time I ask for money. Sick to death of looking at inventory in my garage that I have no money to ship. Cringing every time I take money out of my savings to pay down corporate debt.

I still marvel at the corporation part. That's right party people: I started a corporation. I still remember my delighted shock when the IRS loved me enough to approve my 54 page exemption application. I know, who would have thought?! OAP will be three years old next month.

The upcoming deadline to renew the website (and corresponding expense that goes with it) has compelled me to really stop and look at the state of my corporation. It's a sorry state, truth be told. I so believed in what OAP was set up to do that I always had this fantasy that the funding would follow based on their sheer rightness of what we were doing.

It was perfect in my mind. Almost everything went directly towards our mission. We didn't pay salaries, office or storage rent, nothing. We bought our supplies, paid our shipping, carried our insurance and did our basics for exposure like modest printing costs and the price of the website.

I thought I was upholding an ideal that I always wished more charities could run on. Now I am so tired I don't even give a damn.

I didn't ask for enough help or enough money and I ended up running both myself and OAP's potential, right into the ground.

I keep thinking I am wrong for being done. You aren't supposed to ever give up, right? I am letting people down because I don't fund raise better. I should try harder. I should wait it out and somehow everything will get itself back on track.

Oh but live and learn Daniella! Failure is such a great teacher! Next time you are going to know so much more! Yeah, whatthefuckever.

I should have learned more this time.

You're Probably Going To Hate Me For This...

...but what the fuck are we doing giving $100 million in aid to Haiti?!

I'm sorry but it's ridiculous. You are probably already convinced I am Pat Robertson's evil twin, but maybe you could just let me have a chance to tell you why I think we are being lame: Our country is in a fucking shambles and we are jumping up to bleed out a little more! That's why. Thanks for letting me get that out.

Let's refresh on the current state of our grand old union, shall we? And I will throw the net wide and keep things as general and positive as possible. The current lowhighlights include:

Unemployment rates the highest they have been in decades

Complete healthcare crisis/meltdown

Complete banking crisis/meltdown

National Debt at an all time high

Many small businesses and homeowners struggling to stay afloat

For all intents and purposes, our debt to China means they pretty much own us

Eighth year of US military action in the Middle East

Do you wonder where we just happened to have $100 mil lying around with everything that is going on? Do you ask yourself why our government hasn't made sure that it's own citizens don't suffer? Doesn't it sound at all silly to you folks?!

It does to me.

America has become that lame-ass twenty something guy that is in the hottest car (balloon lease payments), blinging the most tricked out phone (massive security deposit on it), buying the whole club a round in his Armani suit (charged it yo!), before he goes home to sleep in his twin bed (the one his parents got him when he stopped using diapers) back at mom's and pay all the minimums on his secured credit cards.

Whoo! I know I am waving my asshole flag really high here, but I am going to take a shot at redemption here. I am not advocating in the least bit that we ignore the horrific damage and loss the people of Haiti are suffering. I wholeheartedly believe there is something we can and should be doing to help. Of course it is only right and just to honor their need, and do our part. We just make our part way too much of a starring role; and at a time when we literally can't really afford to do so.

We need to learn our limit before that last round goes out for a toast, and we are face down on the floor, getting that Armani all stanky before we can even get it paid off. Which brings me to another thought - who would pick us up off that floor?

Now I have seen like .08 of an episode of that So You Think You're Smarter Than A 5th Grader so I know we as a nation suck at geography...but do we suck to the point where we think we constitute 90% of the countries on this planet? Europe can't help a Haitian out? Is Dubai too strapped from making snow all summer for their indoor ski resort, to send a little food and water?

And maybe they are pitching in - I don't know. Researching facts gets in the way of my anger and sweeping generalizations, so I avoid it like a hooker dodges churches. I am just using them to soften the blow of my very unpopular opinion anyway.

Now that I have bitched about the problem, believe it or not, my lame opinion includes some solution too.

Let Americans decide how much aid goes to Haiti.

In just two days of mass exposure on television, Facebook, Myspace and Twitter, we have donated over $5 million dollars to Haitian relief through the American Red Cross alone, and that number continues to grow. And that is just via their texting option. I am sure many more have mailed in checks and donated on the web.

Many celebrities have also pledged very generous donations to the cause as well.

There are also several not-for-profit organizations that are set up for exactly this sort of need.

Don't believe me? Here's just a tickle of what is out there:

Doctors Without Borders

Partners in Health

International Rescue Committee

International Medical Corps

CARE

American Refugee Committee

Yele Haiti

Save The Children

When I went to get these links, I noticed that several sites are already posting their thanks for the overwhelming amount of support they are receiving for their efforts, so obviously we are pitching in. Doing our part to help a global neighbor in need. Just as it should be.

Don't hate me for having opinions, hate me because deep down inside I am arrogant enough to believe my opinions are important enough to be blog worthy.


PS ~ I love you....and I donated to an org for Haitian aid.

Evolution

Exboyfriend's face hidden to protect anonymity; it was a bad breakup.

Thirty five years, seventeen hours, and twenty one minutes of it right there for you to see. It wasn't even that difficult to tell you the truth.

You can ask yourself where you went wrong, but it would most probably just make you feel crappy about yourself. The simple truth is that some people are just genetically engineered by a God who plays favorites, to be superior. That's the reality people.

Racism Is Always Unacceptable...

Stereotyping though? That's coolio. Have at it.

Let's start with the stoopid dolt of a road crew dude. Of course he has to be Caucasian. Why, you ask? Because that is the only group of people who are racist. Everyone knows this.

That pretty much explains why Betty Crocker back there is yucking it up at his antics. When she isn't throwing burritos at Mexicans, or making weave jokes to the Black women in the office, she is laughing her ass off at just how funny Eber is.

Really now, isn't he funny? Such a comedic innovator. Who would have ever thought to mock eye shape. Very sharp, that guy.

And then we have our Miss Oppressed right there, front and center. A chop stick using, rice eating Asian. Nice. You can tell they are serious about championing her plight by the sheer in-your-face way in which they undermined the whole scenario with the stereotyping.

Lame.

If employees really need posters like this one in the workplace, to guide them about what is an act of racism, and what isn't, then perhaps Obama doesn't need to work on that 10.2% unemployment rate as much as we thought.

It may just be Darwinian office weeding at it's best.

Up Yours!

I have had ringing ears and mild dizzyness for about 10 years now. Usually more pronounced on my right side, chronic nasal drip [that is an equally sufficient description of my personality for my Match.com profile too, by the way] my Eustachian tubes swell up and trap fluid, causing on the ear canal chaos. It's as fun as it sounds.

Now all the rage is for Neti pots. The Ayurvedic idea behind the Neti is that regular saline irrigation of the nasal passages is the key to new cars, fur coats, mad cash, and taco flavored kisses. Sometimes it doesn't do all that and you just end up with less allergy and sinus symptoms.

I figured even without the taco flavored kisses, I could still use calmer booger troughs, so I bought one a couple of days ago.

I have two day of happy Neti-ing under my nose and I am really getting into it. It's a pretty simple routine. You want mildly warm, not nasty water [ie, if your tap shoots out chlorinated chemical soup -- go bottled]. Most of the pots seem to call for about 1/4 of a teaspoon of noniodized table salt. Mix those two up, and you are ready to Neti!

It's quite the efficient apparatus, if I do say so myself. The shape of the spout creates a nice little seal in your standard issue nostril, and just moves the warm saline water right on through. For shoving something up your nose, you really do walk away feeling pretty refreshed.

If you don't thumbs up yourself while doing it, like the guy in the photo, you for sure won't be getting the mad cash and fur - just so you know.

Your Dirty Lies Are Starving My Dog!

I've got some liars in my life. Now don't get me wrong, I know we all lie - myself included. None of us are really exempt from those occasional "oh, I wish I could but I have to wash my hair and get a liver transplant that day" moments.

I am talking more about the giant, chronic, drama queen, ass-face liar. They use their lies more than they tell the truth. In fact, their tale spinning is second nature to them and they pretty much believe they are hiding well behind the camouflage of it.

I got a call recently from a pretty accomplished liar I know. As soon as I answer the phone my ear is under attack as the rapid-fire Armageddon victim story unfolds. One horrific occurrence after another has allegedly befallen this poor person.


It goes something like this:

"Okay, you're never going to believe this...I was superglued to the toilet by Somali pirates in the wee hours of the morning. They left me there in my own bathroom for dead! In my last-ditch effort to save myself, I managed to bite down on the toilet roll hanger bar and tear my butt cheeks from the toilet.

Once the massive bleeding subsided a little, I went outside to throw the toilet seat away (everyone knows that ass skin sticks like a mothersmucker to those seats, so I didn't doubt this part of the story) and I was attacked by a troop of ground squirrels. I guess they had been waiting for me on the side of the house, because as soon as I rounded the corner, they launched right at me! Before I could do anything, they had me face down and wrist cuffed with one of those zip ties. Then they sodomized me with a Star Wars toy light Saber they claim they found in the neighbor's recycling bin. They weren't gentle. And If you have ever heard a ground squirrel snicker....it was evil.

They left me face down ass in the air, but were kind enough to chew through the zip tie before they took off. I managed to get to my feet. I staggered back in the house and my cell phone was beeping with a voice mail. Apparently I had missed a call during my anal invasion. It was my boss. I got fired. Apparently he didn't believe me yesterday when I called in and tried to explain to him that I was having trouble getting to work because this chimp had chewed off my thumbs in the 7/11 parking lot the night before. Have you ever tried to start your car without your thumbs?! I was only asking for a little time to get transplants, but I guess he didn't want to deal with me. People with disabilities are so often discriminated against, ya know?

Anyway, as soon as I hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. When I answered it, some ski-masked punk threw a flaming bag of dog shit into the house, and it slid right across the hardwood into the living room. I limp-scurried my sore ass over to it to stomp out the flames, and I fishtailed in dog shit, fell, and broke my right hip. The fire spread and I only managed to save myself - the house and all of my worldly possessions inside, are gone.

When I got to the hospital the doctor examined me before the hip x-ray. Bad news -- they found this giant mole under my left nut that they think is malignant Melanoma. So I am probably going to die which is why I am canceling our plans at the last minute like this. Sorry."

Yeah, you're right -- I don't believe you.

I did however get pretty distracted by the whole pile of bullshit slung at me over the phone lines. So distracted in fact, that I forgot I was in the middle of feeding The Ru when I answered the phone. I didn't remember this for three hours after the call ended. Three whole hours. My dog could have died of starvation. There is no better reason than that to always abide by the Honesty Is Always The Best Policy rule.

The truth would have taken a fraction of the time.

It goes something like this:

"Hi there - I'm a fucking tool. I am calling to cancel last minute on our plans for today. I don't have a good reason, I just don't like planning. Flaking teaches everyone not to engage in scheduling things with me in the future. Sorry. And I say sorry because I know that is just one of those things I am supposed to say. I don't actually give a shit or I wouldn't be such a tool in the first place."

So much easier, right? And I would have had the brain power to feed my poor pooch afterward.

Yellow Ribbon Lightning Bolt

I try not to get too obnoxious about supporting our troops on this blog. If you have read my madness for a while, or go back over postings, you will not see a lot on here about OAP.

Sure, I have had my moments but if you were inside my head and knew how much I thought about it in contrast to posting about it, you would think I was downright disciplined!

I try not to make people uncomfortable. As the saying goes, war is hell and I have found that trying to talk to people about it isn't always much better.

You aren't going to find many people in social settings that want to sip their cocktail while you tell them about John, who spent a freezing winter in a tent with 7 other dudes in the middle of Iraq because they didn't have housing units for them. How all we could afford to send them at the time was coco packets, coffee and eight goody treats bags, but they loved it. When you launch into Capt Ellis' story too about his isolated base on a dangerous border area where everyone wanted to creep out of the mountains and kill them. They were just looking for condiments and salt to dress up their MRE rations. Or Tom, who upon finding out about our waitlist thanked us for the email, and asked if anyone could just write to him once in a while. He he lost friends. More important to him than snacks and toiletries was a link to the outside world that didn't involve the war and his role in it while stationed in Afghanistan. Yeah, just call me Captain Buzzkill.

So I try to temper my shiz. Afterall, there is a fine line between a passionate person and a fanatical freak. ASPCA and PETA. Small town pastor and Jim and Tammy Bakker.

So I am telling you all of that in order to negate it all by making this post about the troops. Hello, self-contradiction my old friend. Have a seat; I have a story to tell you.

This morning I sat down at the computer with a piping hot cowboy size mug of this new-to-me brand of Stash tea (it's a mix of Green and White teas -- it was pretty decent) to get my voyeur Facebook Devil Machine fix. While creeping along the news feed, I came across this video.



The washer was rattling away behind me when I hit play but I like to get the full Youtube experience, so I turned up the volume on the video. The music starts and off we go. As far as troop support videos of the last five or so years go, this one is pretty upbeat. It's a nice little social experiment/outreach effort. People look happy. It is uplifting. Was even filmed on a sunny day. There's smiles and hugs and high fives even. Nice. These are not always common to the military support world.

Anywho, in the middle of all the dryer noise, video music, and yellow ribbon rainbows in my heart, I didn't realize that my cell phone rang. I picked it up and listened to the voicemail. It was from a corporate contact I hadn't heard from in over a year. She was calling to verify that none of my company info had changed because her regional manager was organizing several of their store locations to donate items to OAP.

How tripper-roo is that?! Of course it wouldn't even take that big of a skeptic to say it was all just a coincidence. And perhaps they are correct. What the wouldn't know is that for months now I have been feeling sorry for OAP. I have been feeling blown out and tanked on moral over OAP. No one loves OAP. I haven't done enough for OAP. Maybe it is time to just hang it up. Apologize and go home. Failure.

Then this. Maybe the troop support gods are trying to tell me something. As one friend put it when I reached out for feedback, "Give that gal a call girlfriend - I think the universe is saying your work's not done yet!" My brother was perhaps a little more...er....blunt when he offered, "You are an idiot if you let OAP go - call her"

Okay, I will make the call. I'm dialing with absolute gratitude for both an encouraging sign post on the path, and the opportunity to serve.

Moldrid's Bologna Has A Middle Name - It's Guilt

I have this friend; her name is Moldrid. Whenever people tell Moldrid that she is a nice person, she always tells them they are wrong. "Oh, no no no" she insists, "I'm not all that nice." Don't we all do this? Poked in the ribs by modesty, humility, propriety -- whatever, we will be first to argue against our virtue right off the bat.

My friend Mol though, she goes another step further, in her head anyway. When on the receiving end of this particular compliment, she inwardly squirms as she becomes even more aware of how many "nice" things she does out of guilt.

She flashes on all of the times in the past she has put up with requests she had no real desire to accommodate, but did so anyway because she felt she should. Often times, she ends up trying spread generosity with others out of what is essentially a place of depletion from over doing in general. I have even seen her put up with barely decent behavior from some people in her life, while giving them 110% in return.

By now, you must be wondering why she is like this. Why wouldn't she just learn how to say no once in a while, fortify boundaries, and cut the cord on the jerks?

Well, according to Mol, guilt fuels her to continue in this manner. She would actually rather torture herself by overextending to please others, than to risk looking "not nice". Imagine that. She chooses the fatigue, frustration, pressure, and discomfort of throwing boundaries and self-care to the wind, over enduring that terrible sniggly little worm of an emotion: guilt.

You know sometimes I think she confuses feeling guilty with connecting with her conscience. She will be faced with something that goes against her grain at that moment, for whatever reason, and with a desire to say no comes a wave of guilt. I think that guilt kicks her Should Drive into gear and then she is off and running again, doing too much, being too nice.

So now you are probably wondering what in the french toast she is going to do about it. Hell if I know! I don't have these sorts of issues. My reward for being so solid is that I get to sit back and judge good people like Mol whose tragic downfall is that no matter what the motivation, they are out spreading some nice in this big ole world. Yeah, they probably should [There's that word again. I will have to be sure and tell Mol she absolutely should go easier on herself - that ought to do the trick.] find more balance but they are still way ahead in the Karma game than people like ChickenLover.

We Can Do More Than Remember

Capt Walsh took this photo in Ghazni, Afghanistan and shared it with us

"Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation." ~ Robert F. Kennedy

We can do more than remember.

That is what I posted as my status update today on that devil machine known as Facebook. And to tell you the truth, I was irritated and frustrated when I did it. I am sick to death of people using 9/11 as a day to just sit there and say "I remember" or "I was sad" or "We can't forget".

What is the point of remembering anyway? If you aren't going to attach anything to it, than what is the point? Without honor, and action what does remembering really accomplish?

The plaintive sentiments about how emotional you were that day strike me as a waste too. Sorry, I know I am really flying the A-hole flag today, but I just don't get it. Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with having the emotion, it just seems that as a nation we sit on our laurels with it. Slip off the hook for the next 12 months by telling ourselves, and each other, that "sad" is enough.

It's not. That's right -- I am judging you fair nation and I am saying it is absolutely not enough.

The struggle continues. Maybe it's not happening in your backyard, but it is happening. Taking place this very moment in front lines overseas, soup kitchens down the street, and individual lives across each state.

Want to honor the tragedy of September 11th 2001? Want to remember what we lost by giving? Start by looking around and reaching out.

"But I Shaved My Balls For You!"

Every once in a while I find myself in moments that are so perfectly encapsulated by the accompanying verbiage that the phrasing becomes a theme label for future situations.

Years ago I helped a friend move and she had one of those round, wicker chairs with the futon style pad inside. When we got to the front door, we realized we were going to have to tip the chair onto it's side to get it in, but that would also dump the futon pad out. In that moment, I don't remember if the sun shone a little brighter, or if the birds twatted a little more tweetier, but I do know that our minds melded and full ESPN kicked in. When she looked at me and said, "Let's just move the actual ton (as in futon) first then" I needed no further clarification. We moved in sync to grab the pad at the same time and take it in; coming back for the frame after. The actual ton. To this day, when the occasion calls for discerning one thing away from it's other parts, "the actual ton" becomes our short-hand verbiage to communicate that. Neat.

When building the OAP website, my friend Vince and I spent hours sitting shoulder to shoulder in his room working on the details. Every time he would upload something to the server, my anticipation to see the end result on the larger of the two monitors would have me looking more eager than a virgin at a whorehouse. Sometimes, he would forget to refresh the screen for me, and a new term was coined. "Dude, you forgot to hook up the doll"* was all I offered on one such occasion and Big V knew what I meant! Originally stemming from the movie Weird Science, we both remembered the scene surrounding that line and from then on, we could throw that out to each other any time a piece of information was missing in our conversation, or a step was left out when doing something together. Neat.

Another time a boyfriend decided to straddle the toilet backwards and shave his balls with his little electric trimmer. As the hairs softly floated down to the water below, he fantasized of all the attention his twig and berries were going to be on the receiving end of once he showed me his handy work.

At the unveiling, it was lost on me. It looked fine, but did nothing for my libido or attraction to him. Remember, I had not requested this manscaping in the first place, nor had I even voiced a preference for smooth berries. But hey, to each his own, right? He must have been in to the idea or he wouldn't have chosen to do it.

That is sort of where I left it and went back to my book. He had a little more trouble. As I walked away, all I heard him yelling from the end of the hall was, "But I shaved my balls for you!"

No you didn't. You shaved those bad boys for yourself. And in that comical moment, another sophistication to my vocabulary came in to being.

When I try to convince other people that something that is potentially mutually beneficial was really just selflessly done for them "But I shaved my balls for you!" always gets the job done. Neat.

I encourage you to form your own special language with the people around you. Contrary to popular belief, (and possibly decency - but don't let crap like that get in the way) ball shaving is not the limit! There is a whole world out there waiting for your linguistics. It is so much more fun than just sticking to the 100 or so words and phrases that almost all of us just doggedly wear out when describing the world around us and expressing ourselves.

So don't be afraid! Call your doctor out the next time he/she forgets to hook up the doll and rush you through that appointment. Don't let your brother ruin another Thanksgiving dinner whining about how he shaved his balls for everyone at the table, and for God's sake be there for a friend when they need you to assist when it comes to the actual ton. Neat.


* Sidenote to Big V ~ Nine months ago, "You forgot to hook up the doll" was added to Urban Dictionary! You realize what this means, right? We changed the world. For the better. In less than three years. That makes us better than most people, and don't you ever forget that.

Twogging?

I like the idea of small thoughts. Concise expressions. Condensed mental soup.

Twitter's concept appeals to me in that way. Twitter itself though....not so much. I am already a Facebook Flopsweat and if I don't rage against one of these egomaniacal web machines, then I stand for nothing my friends. That's not true, I just need to have something I can be against to feel good.

So here it is: I want to take the twitter concept to some of my blog posts. When those scathingly brilliant 140 word or less thoughts strike. I want to post some twogs? Twat once in a while?

I don't know -I think it needs a good name and a logo for me to really get the mojo going.

What do you think? Any ideas?

Get A Brian Morons - Go USA!

If you don't love this picture, then you my friend, do not love this country. Might as well put your shit in a shoebox now and get on the next plane to France.

This picture encompasses all of what is right and good about the USA. Well, not really, but it's funny as hell!

Let's start at the top, shall we?

White stars on blue do-rag is fabulous. I like to think this piece of patriotic headgear is covering a red stripe of faux-hawk to round out the theme. And if we look closely, our friend has a healthy amount of hair coming out the back there. I think I might have to call a Mullett Alert. The Go USA Mullet -- the ultimate in patriotism. It's one thing to die for your country. It's a whole different sacrifice to look like an idiot for life for it.

On the subject of hair: a moment of respect and deference for this man's Magnum PI would be nice of you.

Right now I am wishing that I was more of a sports buff so I could find some witticism about his shirt, but I got nothing. I do love the hint of the shed he is building to cover his tool we get under that shirt though. Niiice.

Now we come to the signage - it's just so perfect! Or purfect.

And hell yeah - GO USA! Who wouldn't want those morans to get a brain?

I encourage all of you to get out there and follow this man's lead -- show your nation something GO USA! about you!

What Would You Do If I Sang Out Of Tune?

A while back a friend of mine once told me that her therapist always advised paying attention to those songs that just seem to pop into your head. The notion intrigued me so I started to consider these lyrical, potential messengers.

My brain pops up with a myriad of theories for each tune's visit.

Last week I was sitting on the toilet, (honoring a number onesy call) with a thousand yard stare loosely focused on the Man Wall, when a song popped in. To be more accurate, just the first line of a song.

What would you do if I sang out of tune?

Where in the hell did that come from? I don't care for the Beatles -- or that song -- nor do I even recall hearing it any time in the recent past.

But see, that's the thing. Your brain just bubbles this stuff up to the surface, and then you kick it around like a beach ball until you like where it settles - or just get tired.

I had to sit and think for a second what the next line of that song even is, then it came to me.

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Ahh -- now we are getting somewhere. I don't know why both lines didn't show up in my gray matter at the same time, but I do know that considering both lines made more sense and ended up resonating with me.

I always grapple with loyalty and acceptance. Not so much as to whether or not I can offer those in my relationships, as I think I am pretty damn good at it actually. I struggle more with being secure in knowing that I have those elements in my relationships, and therefore can relax and just be. More simply put: I [still] need to learn I don't have to take care of everybody to be accepted.

In trying to remember more of the song, [that again, I don't even like] I got a whole lot of nothing, until part of the chorus came to me.

I get by with a little help from my friends

Alright party people, this is where the shit gets heavy. Deep.

As I ponder, I'm redefining friend in my head. It becomes more of a representative term for everyone who loves me, a broader category than their title of Friend, Family, Chicken Fucker, if you will.

And that brought me to the final piece of the Name That Tune Introspection puzzle.

I absolutely get by with a little help from my friends. Actually, I thrive with a little help from my friends. If you do stand up and walk out, I will get by. Your retreat may come as a blindsiding gut punch, but someone who loves me will have their arms out as I fall backward like a drunken sailor.

A day may come where I am just too "out of tune" for you. You may be living and loving blissfully tone deaf for 20 years and then one day, off you go. Who knows. The future can't be told.

For now, I guess I have to live by the words of the stinkin Beatles anyway, cause the shit just makes sense to me.

Live without regret and the rest will all come out in the wash. **

I take it all back. I think it was just a reminder that I am a craptacular singer, so mark that off of the Ways I Might Be Able To Make A Fortune list. Oh well. On to the next item: Stunt double for Liza Minnelli.


**I just typed that, impressed myself with the poignancy, then googled it to see if anyone else has posted it before. Holy crap - I think I might have just come up with a quotable quote!

Horsemeat Anyone?.....Anyone?

Okay, I know I am a pain in the ass with my dreadfully dark topics sometimes, but I can't help it. My brain whirs all the time and sometimes it is a total buzzkill with the stuff it churns up.

Animal slaughter, and even more specifically, horse slaughter has been one of my latest points of ponderment (making the English language work for you people!).

For several years now I have been aware of/and researched somewhat the American animal slaughter market. The injustices (both to animals and humans), corruption, and downright filth, are way too broad of a topic to discuss here. However I do think I can scratch the surface on the horse slaughter issue, and that has been the focus of my musing lately.

It all started several months ago when I admitted how much, and how long I have had a crush on horses. It started as a kid with the Black Stallion books and an uncle who let my brother and I ride his Quarter Horse, Sugar Foot. As I got older, I just admired them, and the people who got to ride them, from afar. With this admiration came the knowledge that somewhere between calm, sweet Sugar Foot and the present, I had developed some fear.

My brother now has three horses and every time I get around them I feel anxious I am going to get stepped on and the notion of riding one of them fills my head with ugly fall scenarios; complete with broken bones. Yikeys!

Anywho, back to the crush*. I decided to seriously consider getting my own horse (under my brother's tutelage) and wanted to educate myself before making any final decisions.

I started with several books about horse care and "horse people" relating their experiences at all stages of equine knowledge. At the same time I added a few horse blogs to my morning lineup; including Fugly Horse of the Day and NorCal Equine Rescue. Lately both of these blogs have had several posts on the issue of horse slaughter in this country. I am sure it comes as no surprise that they are both staunchly opposed to horses being slaughtered and their meat being eaten. No shocker here either that many are for the slaughter and meat use of horse, and so the grand debate begins.

Currently in the US (and these could be rapidly changing in Montana) horse slaughter has been banned in most states sine the 1990s. Most of the horses purchased at livestock auctions in this country, are sent to Canada or Mexico for slaughter.

I do not regularly comment on blogs (other than my own) but yesterday I did weigh in at Norcal's blog on the slaughter issue.

Daniella said...

I think the work Nor Cal is doing is not only amazing, but wonderful. I have great respect and admiration for all of the work to help as many horses as possible.

The animal slaughter issue in general is a difficult one. Who are we as a nation to decide which animals are to be eaten and which to be spared, or made into pets?

We routinely, and by vast majority, inhumanely slaughter thousands of animals a day in this country alone for their meat. No, we do not currently slaughter dogs and cats for food in the United States, but is that to say other animals like cows and pigs and chickens are just plain more deserving of this fate?

Does that also mean European markets for horse meat are somehow wrong in comparison with our meat consumption?

I don't think it is about how many animals are killed and what we are doing with them.

I think we need to shift our thinking to one of a unified intolerance of any animal being inhumanely treated/slaughtered; no matter their human labeled status as "pet" or "food".

As humans, we have chosen to overlap our existence with many different species. If we respect that choice by making sure every animal we deal with has a dignified, peaceful life - and death, then I think we will have brought some much needed humanity and grace back into our interactions with these animals. That is what they deserve.

May 20, 2009 11:50 AM

So there you have it. Not the most eloquent comment in the world, but hopefully I got across my point that if we have dominion over an animal, it is our duty as humans to make sure that our time with them does not include inhumane or unnatural treatment.

Did my cheery look at such a lighthearted topic stir you to the point where you just have to know more?

Here you go:

Legislation information from the Animal Welfare Institute

The Montana chapter of the Quarter Horse Association jumps into the slaughter ring, but maybe not on the side of the issue you would think...

A surprising look into the horse meat black market in Miami

A Pro-slaughter article from the NY Times

A Fugly Anti-slaughter post



* Afternote: My equine education really showed me that I cannot afford a horse at this time. It didn't wipe out my crush though, so we shall see!